


no amount of love will make this any easier

by shelkenz



Category: Fantastic Four, Marvel 616, Marvel Secret Wars Battleworlds
Genre: Feels, Heavy Angst, M/M, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:11:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelkenz/pseuds/shelkenz
Summary: Someone suggested this idea: “What if in Secret Wars, Reed had been the consort instead of Sue?” So I ran with that and it became angst because that’s just how I roll.I have a lot of feelings about this pairing, okay. A lot.





	no amount of love will make this any easier

              At the center of the world, at the base of the Yggdrasil tree, the ruler of this fractured, patched-together reality watched his consort and tried to remember a time when he didn't feel the same terrible ache he felt now; the impossible pain of missing someone who was standing right beside him.

        _Reed_ seemed happy. No memory of any world but this; of any life but this. Absent Sue and the children, absent any memory of the Four, he'd been deeply honored to work with God-Emperor Doom in those early days, redesigning and bettering and truly _shaping_ the world, just as he'd always dreamed of doing. When the time came for him to return to his own little corner of the land, Reed had simply said that he didn't want to go.

       That was all the convincing Victor required, as shameful as he knew that to be. A single whispered confession, and the being who held dominion over all was ready to bend as many rules as he must to make his companion--his former enemy--smile again.

       Doom could still hear himself asking the one question he knew he shouldn’t have asked: "Will you stay with me?" Could still easily recall Reed's unhurried reply, and feel again exactly how the breath had caught in his throat when he’d heard it that first time: "Nothing would make me happier."

       And Richards  _had_ been happy--even with Victor's chaste, ridiculous rules (one did not expect base, physical love from a _**god**_ , after all). Unaware of what was missing (for the most part--though there were days when he drifted from room to room, searching for something; for someone; for faces that his home felt incomplete without, even if he'd only seen them in dreams and could never recall what their names were).

       Doom wanted to cut his own heart out for allowing this dreaded feeling to persist. For the way some part of him fractured like multi-layered glass every time Reed searched the halls or gave him a bewildered look after he'd been lost in thought for too long.

       There were too many reasons why he could never shatter--not with the whole of reality resting on his shoulders--but the cracks ran deep. Reminding him that Reed would never be his, no matter how often he said the words. No matter how often his fingers brushed Victor's hand or cheek. No matter how much time they spent together, or how effortlessly their thoughts overlapped in work.

       He may never claim Reed's heart, no, but his _mind_ was a different story. Their workflow was unique, in Victor's experience; the unity of purpose and synchronization between them, two mental machines sharing one soul, and that spirit guiding them from point to point with no real need to explain anything to each other at all. They simply... _knew_. They innately understood one another and paused only to tease or joke or compliment the other's work. 

       None of it was necessary, of course. One benefit of being an actual god--Doom could simply _wish_ solutions into being, now. These primitive methods were a waste of time and energy. 

       But they were also as vital to him as water or air, even if it meant a sleepless night spent pacing and yearning, hating himself for the sentimental stupidity of refusing to let this man go, knowing he could truly never have him, knowing that Richards would _never_ choose this if he'd been given the choice to make.

       Wanting to imagine that he might, anyway.

       He gave up that dream when the ship was found; knowing who was inside it and what it portended. There was no need to ask for details, no reason to investigate. A single flash of startled _hope_ on his consort's face and Doom had already lost the war. 

       By nightfall, Reed would have his full memory restored. Best if he were sent away first--Victor couldn't bring himself to watch him awaken from this shared dream. He couldn't watch the affection in those eyes turn to anger; to hurt, betrayal, and hatred. 

       But he _could_ do one thing he'd denied himself until now. 

       Without armor or mask, he caught Reed's hand before he could leave the room and pulled, bringing him inward, wrapping both arms around that familiar, slender form and holding on tightly; breathing in his scent and memorizing the press of their bodies together; the heat and weight and every minute detail of this single moment--storing away every piece of sensory data describing _exactly_ how it felt to stand here like this and hold him as if he had a perfect right to do so.

       Pulling back, Victor kissed his temple with scarred lips and murmured: 

       "Whatever you learn of me tonight, dearest, know that I did only what I thought was best. Save for one flaw: my love for _you_. It made me selfish and cruel, unwilling to give you up even when it meant both of us would suffer. I've done a terrible thing, Reed. I do not imagine that my love for you will absolve me, but I do love you, still." A second kiss, this one on the forehead, and Victor pushed him away.


End file.
